


Family

by Severina



Category: Die Hard (Movies)
Genre: Community: 1_million_words, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 17:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18783073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: The McClane-Farrell household welcomes its newest member.





	Family

**Author's Note:**

  * For [persnickett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/persnickett/gifts).



> Happy Belated Birthday, persnickett! It has been a pleasure and a joy spending the last ten years -- TEN YEARS???? -- with you. Do you know how rare it is to find that one person who 'gets' you, laughs with you, gives great advice, helps you in any way she can, always listens, never judges? I am SO lucky you found me all those years ago. Thanks for being an awesome fandomwife. :) 
> 
> (prompt: "a mystery to me" from a weekend challenge)
> 
> * * *

Matt was halfway through a _Fast and Furious_ marathon – Dom was hot, so sue him for not watching some _Masterpiece Theatre_ shit – when the doorbell rang. He reluctantly hit the pause button, and his mind was still half on the movie (and possibly comparing Vin Diesel to another superhot burly dude he knew) when he opened the door.

So he totally wasn't ready when Lucy barged inside, barked out a "Happy Birthday", and shoved a large cardboard box into his hands.

"Um. My birthday was actually two days ago, but… thanks?"

"Way to be ungrateful, Farrell."

"No," Matt shook his head, "you're right, that was inconsiderate. I should be happy that after blowing off all my texts for the last month you drove all the way over here to walk in _unannounced_ on my only day off in the last two weeks—"

"You work at home, punk."

"Point," Matt said, "but that doesn't mean that my time is my own! I have _corporate clients_ breathing down my neck now! Do you know how uncomfortable that is?"

"They're probably going to rescind your douchebag hipster badge any minute."

"Hah," Matt said, as if the Warlock hadn't lectured him about how close he was to losing his "indie cred" just last week.

"Look, do you want the gift or not?"

Matt shifted the box in his arms. Despite the fact that she hadn't even bothered to wrap it, it was quite large. Too light to be the newest Xbox system. Too big to be clothes. Too small to be—

"Forget it," Lucy said, making a grab for the box.

Matt clutched it to his chest reflexively. "No, no, I want it," he said quickly. "I'm sure that whatever you got me is—"

_mew_

"—not a kitten."

"Wow, wrong at the buzzer. And he gave you a hint there and everything," Lucy said.

Matt always thought it was just a cartoon thing, but he could actually _feel_ his eyes bulging out of their sockets. "You… really… didn't."

_Mewwww_

"You can pretend he's a hedgehog if you want, but I'm pretty darned sure he's a cat, Farrell."

"I don't," Matt started. "I can't, it's not—"

"His name is Porkpie," Lucy said as she reached back onto the porch for a green recycled bag. Matt could only watch in dismay as she dumped a litter box, a small bag of litter, and a couple of pouches of moist food onto the hall carpet. "And that's enough to get him started for a few days."

"I won't… he's not…"

"Right," Lucy said. "I'm off. Happy Birthday!"

"I can't, I don't…" Matt said to the closing door.

_Mewww!!_ said Porkpie.

* * *

There weren't any cat toys in Lucy's grab-bag of horror, so Matt removed the shoelace from one of John's old running shoes and was wiggling it across the floor for the kitten to chase and pounce on. Porkpie seemed to think this was the epitome of jolly fun. Kittens were clearly not the smartest mammals in the animal kingdom.

He heard the door open and shut. Heard the flop of first one shoe and then the other hitting the hardwood floor beyond the mat, because God knows John couldn't put his shoes on the rack that was sitting _right there_. Heard the pad of John's sock feet on the floor, and looked up just as John rounded the corner into the living room. Saw him glance once at the kitten.

"You don't wanna be playin' with those things, kid," he said as he walked through toward the bathroom. "If we've got rats in the basement again I'll call an exterminator."

"It's not a rat," Matt said.

"Mice then, whatever," John called out. He poked his head around through the archway, raised a brow. "Or did you get a hamster?"

"It's a kitten," Matt said.

"A whatnow?"

Matt sighed. "Lucy got me a KITTEN for my birthday. His name is Porkpie."

_Meowwwwww_ , Porkpie agreed.

"Huh," John said. After-work shave seemingly forgotten, he wandered back into the living room. "A kitten."

"Yup."

"Named Porkpie."

"Apparently."

John rubbed his bristly chin absently. "Well."

"Yup."

"I'm allergic."

Matt looked up quickly, in time to see John's left eye twitch just ever-so-slightly. It was a subtle tell, but you live with a guy for three years and you catch the signs. Also… 

The kitten had crawled up onto his lap, so Matt set him down carefully before standing. To round on John. Because _c'mon_. "You know," he said, "a cop's boyfriend can tell when you're lying."

"Don't know what you're talking about, kid."

"Uh huh. And what about that time last summer when Connie was laid up with that broken ankle and we took care of Mr. Snuffles for two weeks? Don't recall any allergies then, John."

"Huh," John said again. "Weird how they didn't act up then."

"Weird," Matt repeated.

John nodded. "It's a mystery to me, kid."

Matt had spent the last three years studying John long and hard – and not just to compare his ridiculously muscled arms to Vin Diesel's, even though that part was tempting and sometimes he broke down and did a mental analysis even though John's arms always won – and he could now meet that steely sea-green gaze evenly every time. 

Almost every time. 

Every time when he really, _really_ wanted his own way.

It took two minutes and seventeen seconds for John to crack.

"Jeeeezus, kid, you don't want a fuckin' cat. When I walked in here you looked so morose I thought someone killed your little cartoon man on that cowboy game."

"It's called an _avatar_ , which I've told you now twelve times, and it's not a "cowboy game", it's a third person pov interactive adven… okay, don't change the subject."

"I've seen happier faces on child molesters just before I put 'em in Gen Pop," John said. "That's all I'm sayin'."

"He's my kitten," Matt said stubbornly. "I want him."

It looked like John was going to put up a fight, but abruptly his shoulders slumped. "Fine."

Matt smiled. "Fine," he said. Because okay, _fine_ indeed, maybe he hadn't actually wanted a cat. But once the prospect of losing him came up, he didn't want _that_ to happen, either. And if he could have a change of heart this quickly, it was only a matter of time before John grew to love little Porkpie. 

"You clean his litter," John said.

"I will."

"You feed him."

"I will."

John started toward the bathroom, turned to point a finger. "You make sure he doesn't get fur all over my good dress pants."

"I will."

"I've only got the one pair."

"I knowwwww. Fuck, John, I'll do everything! You won't even know he's here."

* * *

The rash appeared on the second day. When his arms were swollen to twice their natural size and he was the colour of a ripe tomato, Matt finally gave in and went to the walk-in clinic.

Turned out he was allergic to cat litter.

John wasn't impressed, especially since Porkpie seemed to do an excessively large poop in celebration of Matt's return from seeing the doctor.

"Won't even know he's here," John muttered as he bent over the litter pan. Just before he gagged.

Matt returned to rubbing calamine lotion on his skin and pretended not to notice.

* * *

"What's that?" John asked a week later.

Matt glanced up through his bangs; looked at John and then back to Porkpie's bowl. John had his jacket half off and was _scowling_ , which didn't make any sense because a. he'd just gotten home, b. he was seeing that Matt was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing, i.e. taking care of the kitten, and c. he hadn't even discovered Porkpie's latest poop extravaganza. That scowl did not compute.

"Um," Matt finally said, "feeding the cat?"

"I can see that you're feeding the… jeezus kid, how much did you pay for that shit, a buck fifty at the Bargain Hound?"

This time Matt looked at the bag in his hands. The perky calico kitten on the front of the bag looked perfectly happy with the contents.

"John, this cost considerably more than—"

"You cooked chicken for dinner?"

Matt blinked. He suddenly knew what John must feel like trying to follow his chain of thought all the time. It wasn't fun. "Did I cook… yeah, there's a couple of breasts in the—"

"Give Porkpie some of that to tide him over 'til I get home from the store," John said. He tugged his leather jacket back on before snatching the cat food bag out of Matt's hand; dumped it unceremoniously into the garbage can with a look of disgust on his way out of the room. Matt caught some muttering about China and melamine and possibly about how he – Matt – was trying to poison their cat, and---

And well, that was the best dollar and _seventy five cents_ he ever spent.

* * *

Matt met John at the door a few weeks later. "So let me explain before you get mad," he said.

"Oh, fuck," John said. He toed off his shoes (Matt only stopped himself from glaring when they ended up half on the hardwood and half on the scatter mat and no percentage of them at all on the _shoe rack that was there for that purpose_ by remembering that he had a plan in motion) and shrugged off his jacket. At least _that_ went on the peg and not over the back of one of the chairs in the living room. "Who did you hack and how did you get caught?"

Matt put on his best shocked face and rested his hand on his heart. "John. You know I'm a white hat now."

"Hmm."

When John started walking forward, Matt had no choice but to join him. "So what I wanted to do is get Porkpie a cat tree," he began.

"Uh huh. This sounds innocuous so far."

"Right? But then I started researching the various brands and John, you would not believe what kind of toxins are in these products! The carpet fibers are inundated with fungicides, endocrine-disrupting phthalates; the glues contain formaldehyde—"

"All that, huh?"

"That? That is just the tip of the iceberg, John! There was no way I could bring something that toxic into…" Matt stopped abruptly to prevent himself from bouncing off John's back, curled around his side and waved an arm at the mess on the living room carpet. "So I thought I'd make one myself."

John stood for a long moment just staring at the two by fours that Matt had painstakingly balanced on his moped all the way home from the hardware store. The scattering of nails. The hammer. He scraped a hand over his head. Pressed his lips together. Then—

"Did you sand those?" John asked.

"Sand?" Matt asked. "Well, I thought… the carpet that I bought is going to go over it, so—"

"Jeeezus, kid, you can't have splinters comin' up through the rug. Porkpie could get hurt. Jeezus, you don't think sometimes, you know that?" John shook his head, bent down to rub a big hand along Porkpie's tiny kitten head. "He doesn't think, does he, little Porkie?" he crooned.

Matt did actually think very well. He thought, in fact, that a double 'jeezus' was quite impressive. And a sing-song voice sealed the deal.

John moved his attention to Porkpie's chin until the little kitten purred like a motorboat, then stood and squared his shoulders. "All right, let's haul this shit down to the basement. I got a sander down there, can round these edges too so Porkpie doesn't get no scratches if your carpet wears off." 

And when John bent to gather up an armful of wood and made his way toward the basement door, Matt thought that a celebratory jig was just the ticket.

Mission: Get John To Love Porkpie successfully accomplished.

He stopped dancing before John looked over his shoulder, of course.

* * *

John waited until Matt had gone back upstairs for a refill on his glass of lemonade before setting down his polishing cloth and turning to the kitten.

"He thought he had us fooled, didn't he, Porkpie?" he murmured as he rubbed the kitten's ears. He squinted, looked up at the closed door at the top of the stairs. Matt would come bounding through it at any minute. The man he loved. His family, along with one ragamuffin cat. He smoothed a palm down Porkpie's back until the kitten arched his back and purred. "Like I'd need to be convinced to keep you around! But we'll just let him keep on thinkin' he wore me down, all right?"

_Meowwwww_ , Porkpie said in agreement.


End file.
